Home for Christmas
by Ridley C. James
Summary: The Guardian Dean Winchester faces the prospect of Christmas without his family, recalling a time when the magic of the season worked to bring an injured eleven-year-old Dean exactly the present he needed most.
1. Chapter 1

Home for Christmas

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

Summary: The Guardian Dean Winchester faces the prospect of Christmas without his family, recalling a time when the magic of the season worked to bring an injured eleven-year-old Dean exactly the present he needed most.

A/N: This is not the longer Christmas story that I wanted to write, but life worked against me. I do have that story on the back burner, but I hope this one will tide you over. This story starts out just a little in the future, but is a pre-series, Wee-chester. Let's face it; I'm a little sappy throughout the year, so Christmas makes it ten times worse. Don't say I didn't warn you. It's good to have read our Brotherhood version of the Season Five finale, as well as my last year's Christmas story, Light. There is also mention of Paper Tiger, although it is not necessary to have read that one.

RCJ

"_**This is the message of Christmas: We are never alone." -**__  
__~ Taylor Caldwell_

_**Dean **_

Dean Winchester was not by nature a praying man. He and God did not seem to see things eye to eye. At times Dean had difficulty buying into the Big Guy's _Bigger_ Plan, but tonight he shamelessly asked for patience.

As the leader of a top secret organization dedicated to protecting the innocent from all forms of darkness and evil, he believed himself competent to handle any manner of situation, especially one as simple as finishing up last minute preparations to celebrate Christmas with his family. He survived forty years in Hell with his mental faculties basically intact. He embodied the archangel Michael to take on Lucifer and won. That took balls. That took courage. That took a shit load of Johnny Walker Red, something that was painfully missing from the current situation. The most he could ask for was that Bobby Singer would soon arrive and whip up a batch of Pastor Jim's special eggnog.

"I win, Daddy! I win!" The shrill declaration was preceded by a crash and the sound of breaking glass. Dill whined from her position at Dean's feet, head lifting from her front paws, cocking to one side as her ears perked. She glanced up at Dean in all her dog wisdom as to say 'what now?'

"James." Dean groaned, untangling himself from the yards of twinkling lights, struggling to his feet. His youngest son's first full sentence was cute in the beginning, especially to his uncles, who encouraged it at every whim. Dean found it endearing at first, although three months later he wondered if it were some telltale sign of James's emerging personality. The eighteen month old seemed to have an idea he and his family were in some grand competition. Dean hadn't quite figured out the game they were playing, or the rules of the war his son was waging. The trademark battle cry could follow something positive, like unexpected success in the potty training department, but more often than not usually heralded some small episode of destruction- like now.

Dean emerged from the back of the robust seven foot fir to find Juliet's favorite ornaments the victims of James's latest victory. They lay in ruin at his youngest son's feet, glittering crystal confetti against a backdrop of mahogany hardwood flooring. Dill gave the mess a wide birth, ears flattening against her head as she abandoned her master for refuge in the kitchen. Dean winced, wishing he could distance himself from the blame so easily.

"I win, Daddy," James held up the empty ornament box with chubby little hands. A mass of black hair tumbled across his forehead to hang over dark eyes, framed by even darker lashes. The cherub face was blemished only by the devilish smile, which James flashed his father right before crunching a couple of the bigger shards beneath his boot.

"Not cool, Little Man." For once Dean was thankful for James's embarrassing black spotted rain gear, complete with ears that flapped from the sides and a pink tongue that curled from the toe. James had refused to wear any other shoe since Esme purchased the dog boots in the spring. At least, they were far better suited for glass than the soft soles of James's Spider Man footie pajamas.

"Pretty!" James pointed to the glistening mess.

"Those were Mommy's favorites." Dean scooped him up, depositing him away from the mess and by JT, who was on the other side of the container of Christmas decorations Ben had dragged down from the attic that morning. The older boy regarded him with a wide remorseful gaze.

"Sorry, Daddy. I should have been watching him."

"Not your fault, Tiger." Dean ran a hand over the five year olds cropped blond hair, marveling at how different his sons were. The green eyes, fair skin and freckles marked JT as his father's son, but it was the undeserved look of guilt, the responsibility showing in the slump of his small rounded shoulders that told more about the traits he shared with Dean. "I should have let you handle unpacking the ornaments on your own, and assigned Ben the one man wrecking crew."

"Bee!" James squealed.

"Speak of the devil." Dean patted JT's cheek, turning as he heard footsteps on the stairs. Ben cleared the last step, crossing to them without looking up from the ever-present phone in his hand. "About time you decided to grace us with your presence, Ace."

"It's almost dinner time. I was starving." Ben's fingers flew over the tiny keyboard in a flurry before he looked up at his father. "Then I heard the breaking glass, and thought I better come see how you and the rug rats were doing destroying…I mean _decorating_ our tree."

"How thoughtful of you to interrupt your important social networking to check on us, Son." Dean cuffed him on the back of the head. Ben might not have shared his father's looks to the degree of JT, but the kid's smirk along with a propensity for smart ass humor showed his true Winchester lineage.

"I needed evidence." Ben danced out of his reach, holding up the phone to snap an incriminating picture of the carnage before smoothly sliding the Smartphone into his jean's pocket. He shot his father a carbon copy smile of the one James had given Dean a moment earlier. "Uncle Caleb offered me twenty bucks to document the folly that Christmas should be this year with Jimmy in full mobile mode. He's crushed he can't be here to witness all the mayhem. I have a feeling this is just the beginning."

"I win, Bee!" James pointed to the mess, having caught his name, and believing it a cue to point out his triumph once more.

"Looks about right." Ben ruffled his hair. He pulled out a set of keys from his pocket, handing them to the toddler. James dropped to his bottom, mesmerized with the small LED flashlight dangling from one ring. "You keep this up, and Uncle Caleb might throw in a bonus."

"Really?" Dean crossed his arms over his chest. Leave it to his best friend to throw him under the bus, and find a way to corrupt his son while half way across the country. "You're actually going to sell your own father out for a measly twenty dollars?"

"The holidays are upon us and it's not exactly like my father gives me a spectacular allowance for working at his shop, but if youwant to sweeten the pot, I could definitely make sure only the Norman Rockwell moments are captured."

"Now you're resorting to blackmail?" Dean knew he had let Ben spend far too much time with Caleb.

"Santa is watching you, Ben," JT warned. Dean doubted he knew what blackmail was, but picked up on the idea it could get his older brother in trouble. "And Fisbee the Elf, too."

Ben sent a sideways glance to the plastic smiling toy sitting on the mantle of the fireplace. He gave a fake shudder. "Don't remind me. Isn't it about time for Fisbee to head back to the North Pole? I mean, it's Christmas Eve."

"I told you he goes back every night to report to Santa," JT huffed at his brother's obvious inattention to detail. "Tonight he'll go home on Santa's sleigh."

"Good riddance."

"Santa's scout elf sure did seem to end up in your room a lot, Ace." Dean arched a brow. He'd not been sold on the idea of introducing a totally unrealistic representation of a supernatural creature to his sons, but had found himself enjoying the nightly hidings of The Elf on the Shelf toy that Carolyn had given to them, especially after he found out that Ben, Caleb and mostly Sam found the little clown-like doll completely creepy.

"You're probably on the naughty list," JT said gravely. It was a topic he regarded with great solemnity this year. Who 'was' or 'was not' on the naughty list had become quite the obsession for Dean's middle son. Several times the five year old had pleaded for Santa's leniency on behalf of one of his family members in his nightly prayers, and for his best friend Max, who he fearfully believed doomed to the naughty list forever. He insisted Dean and Juliet buy a few extra presents for Max, just in case.

"I thought you put in a good word for me yesterday at the mall?" Ben pointed a finger at JT. "That was the deal for me standing in line with you for like three hours-clemency. We pinky promised."

"Don't forget the ten dollars I gave you," Dean reminded his son of their deal. Ben had taken to the role of big brother in stellar fashion, but he was still sixteen, and at times needed incentive to hang out with five year olds at the mall where his friends could easily spot him.

Ben shrugged. "As I pointed out earlier, my hard-earned pittance has been spent on gifts for my loving family."

"He bought perfume for Kelly," JT said, knowingly. "And a necklace, too."

Ben frowned at his brother. "But it looks like I'll be getting some of that money back when I return JT's presents."

"Presents!" James crowed, the keys losing their shine in light of the magic word. The toddler scrambled to his feet, pulling at Ben's shirt tail. "James get presents."

"I didn't do anything," JT said. "Jimmy's the one who is ruining Christmas."

"No one's ruining Christmas." Dean held up his hands, seeing that the good natured fun was about to take a sharp turn into meltdown territory. If the doubtful look his sons gave him were anything to go on, the assurance didn't quite ring with the confidence he'd hoped. It was hard to convey a truth he didn't quite believe himself.

"You sure about that, Dad?" Ben nodded to the broken ornaments, as he obliged James by picking him up. "Weren't those the Swarovski crystal snowflakes that Mac gave Juliet her first Christmas here at the farm? The ones that came from Tiffany's?"

Dean frowned at the teen's knack for chiming in with a completely unhelpful commentary. He was beginning to understand why Mac always put the gag order on him and Caleb when they were growing up. "Didn't you say you were starving?"

"That sounds like my cue to my leave?" Ben shifted James to his back, the little boy wrapping his arms around the teen's neck in anticipation of their familiar gallop through the house.

"Ride, Bee. Ride."

"How about you take Jimmy the Cowboy into the kitchen and whip us all up a snack?" Dean pointed towards the kitchen. "Check on the roast while you're in there. The last thing we need is a burnt dinner to add to Juliet's festive mood."

"I guess seeing as how Santa's coming tonight, I should be on my best behavior." Ben winked at JT.

"It's probably too late now," JT muttered grimly, not willing to take his brother's peace offering quite yet.

Ben shook off the rebuke, giving his best horse whinny. His antics elicited an explosion of laughter from James. "Four P, B, & J are coming right up."

Dean watched them go, waiting for the banging of cabinet doors before turning back to look at the tree. It was nowhere near finished, and the fading light streaming through the windows told him his time was quickly running out. He supposed he needed to clean up the mess of ornaments before he got on with it. If Esme didn't soon arrive he would have to try and tackle the side dishes for the roast on his own.

"When's Mommy coming home?" The question was voiced with a mix of longing and misery. Dean felt a sharp stab of failure.

"Has hanging out with just us boys really been that bad, Kiddo?" He'd promised Juliet that tonight would be fine, as memorable as ever even though an emergency at work had pulled her away unexpectedly. It was not turning out the way he had planned. Dean knelt in front of JT, tugging on the front of the blue Batman sweatshirt he was wearing.

"I miss Uncle Sam and Uncle Caleb. They're boys, too."

"Most of the time." Dean smiled when his son's face scrunched up in a frown at his attempt at a joke. He gave his son's shirt another tug to bring him closer so that he could whisper conspiratorially in his ear. "But just between us, I miss them, too."

"Nobody's here yet." JT sighed, slipping onto one of Dean's knees. He put an arm around his father's neck. "Everyone is supposed to be home on Christmas."

Dean's little pang of guilt blossomed to a full on knifing sensation, his chest tightening under the weight as JT's green eyes brightened. "Mommy will be home soon. Your grandparents are on their way."

"Mommy said we would make cookies for Santa and peel carrots for the reindeer. What if she's too late?"

Dean poked him playfully in the side. "I'll have you know that I can make cookies, and not the ones already cut out in the shape of a tree like your mom uses. I used to cook for your Uncle Sam all the time and look how big he is." He wasn't sure if Juliet would make it home in time for lights out. It depended on the Farley's mare and the twin foals the mare decided to deliver on Christmas Eve.

"Does Santa care if his cookies are burnt?" JT's face remained serious, but Dean caught the wink of one deep dimple that framed his cheek. He had Sam's smile and his mother's dry sense of humor.

"I don't think the big guy will hold it against you, but worse comes to worst and we'll crack open a bag of Oreos."

JT appeared momentarily appeased. He lifted his head from Dean's shoulder. "Can we finish decorating the tree?"

"Sounds like a plan." Dean scooted him off his lap. "It's going to take some Winchester elbow grease to get this place fit for a visit from Santa."

"I have an ornament from school." JT rallied, rushing to the couch. He moved around some of the cushions before retrieving a Popsicle stick creation complete with white felt, glitter and cotton balls. Dean wasn't sure if it was Santa or an elf, but the look of pride on JT's face as he offered it to him made it a masterpiece. "I had to hide it from Jimmy and Dill. They chew on everything."

"Wow." Dean took the ornament, holding it up to the light. "This is great, Kiddo."

"It's an angel," JT said, shyly. "I made it all by myself."

Dean could now make out the silver pipe cleaner wings glued on the back, the tiny halo of tinsel above the button head. Dean squeezed his son's shoulder. "It looks just like one. Take it from somebody who knows."

"Can we put it on the tree beside your angel?" JT moved to a small box of Christmas decorations Dean hadn't noticed before. They were in an old milk crate, not the color coded plastic tubs that Juliet used for storage.

"My angel?" Dean came along side his son, peering into the mystery box. There were glass balls, some silver and gold ornaments along with a few items that looked similar to JT's art project. Dean reached for a familiar red construction stocking, the cotton nearly all pulled away from the top. A smile crossed his face as he recognized the faded child scrawl on the back. _D. W_. It was the ornament he'd hung on Jim's tree the first Christmas he had spent at the farm when he was JT's age. The pastor put it on every year afterwards, much to Dean's chagrin. "These are Pastor Jim's things. I'd forgotten we had them."

"Not the angel. It has your name on it." JT leaned over the crate, reaching inside. He drew out a six inch wooden figurine which he offered to his father.

Dean took the carving, turning it over in his hand. He didn't need to look at the bottom to know his son was right. The memory of the angel came back as soon as JT placed it in his hand. Even with a covering of dust, the mahogany wood gleamed dark and rich, like whiskey in a glass. The feathers and folds of the garment gave the illusion of flight, the creases in its face conveying an impossible unearthly feeling of serenity.

"Did you make it, Daddy?"

Dean shook his head, swallowing thickly. "No, Son. It was a gift."

The sound of Dill's sudden barking and the bang of the kitchen door yanked Dean from his sentiments. For a brief moment past and present collided and he entertained a ridiculous thought that his father might march into the room, announcing he'd made it for Christmas after all. He felt only a slight wake of disappointment when Mackland entered the living room, a bundle of brightly wrapped packages in his arms.

"Grandpa Mac!" JT bounced on his toes, starting forward.

"Watch the glass." Dean reached out to guide his son around the remains of Juliet's ornaments as JT hurried to greet the doctor. He might have lost his father years ago, but thanks to Mac and Bobby, Dean's sons hadn't missed out on having a grandfather.

"Ho. Ho. Ho." Mackland had just enough time to deposit the gifts by the half-finished tree, before JT tackled him. He lifted the little boy up, hugging him tight. "I thought you and your brothers would have this place looking like the North Pole by now, Jonathan."

"We had a little problem." JT returned the hug, pointing down to the floor when Mac hefted him higher onto his hip. "Named Jimmy."

"I see." Mac eyed the brightly glittering mess, glancing to Dean with a pained wince. "Aren't those…"

"Yep." Dean shrugged. "Those were some very special snowflakes, Mac."

The doctor shook his head with a groan. "I really should have known better than to make that same mistake twice." Mac looked at JT. "One long ago Christmas I purchased some unique ornaments for your Uncle Sam. They ended in a similar fate, having never graced a tree branch."

"Who knew the spirit of little Sammy Winchester was going to be reincarnated in my youngest son." Dean crossed the room, slapping the doctor on the shoulder. "They were real mesmerizing while they lasted. Where's Esme?"

"She switched jobs with Ben, taking James off his hands in exchange for him helping my father."

"Cullen made it?" Mackland's father had joined them on a few rare holidays. It was ironic considering JT had uncovered the wooden angel. That was the one Christmas from Dean's childhood he remembered Cullen being at the farm.

"He did. It seems sailing the Virgin Isles with a bevy of younger admirers, by which I mean gold diggers, doesn't hold the same allure it once did. I'm not sure if it's his waning libido or his lingering last desperate hope to carve at least one heir out of this new generation."

"What's a gold digger?" JT asked.

"Perhaps you should ask your great grandfather Cullen about that," Mac replied. "He's brought you several board games, including Monopoly for Millionaires."

Dean shook his head at the old man's tenacity. He had the vision of Jim Murphy without the success of fashioning a successor to his legacy. "He's never going to give up on passing the reigns of Ames industry."

"He's probably using the reuse of getting the last of the presents out of the car as a means to work on Ben about abandoning his foolish notions of medical school." Mac tickled JT. "He'll be after James as soon as he's potty trained."

"There are more presents?" JT giggled, his voice cracking with excitement. He had picked up on the one point of the conversation that interested him.

"From your Uncle Caleb and Uncle Sam." Mac glanced to Dean, his eyes betraying the jovial tone he was keeping up for JT's sake. "They asked me to stop by Sam's seeing as how Joshua and Carolyn will be coming from Virginia tomorrow. It's why Esme and I are running so late."

"Max is coming from Virginia, too," JT added. "Don't forget about him."

"Of course." Mac laughed. "We could never forget Maxim."

"I got him a special present." JT pointed to a stack of gifts piled near the recliner, blockaded with a baby gate from James's unrelenting curiosity.

"What do you know?" Mac said surprised. "He told me he had gotten you a special present when I talked to him on the phone last night."

JT's face brightened further. "I bet it's a new baseball glove. That's what I told him I wanted."

"What about Bobby?" Dean asked before JT could launch into the other possible items his best friend, Max could have gotten him. The list was long.

"Robert should be arriving shortly. He was going to pick up Rufus on the way. I hope that's alright?"

"The more the merrier." Dean twisted the ring on his finger. "They'll be plenty of room at the inn this year."

Mackland gave JT another quick squeeze before depositing him to the floor. "Speaking of presents, I believe your grandmother has a special treat for you, young man. Why don't you go say hello?"

"Is that okay, Daddy?" JT hesitated briefly, his eyes going from the ornaments in his father's hand to the kitchen and the promise of an early present.

"I think your granddad and I can handle finishing up the tree. Mac used to be an expert back in his day."

JT didn't give it another thought, leaving the two men alone, the crackling of the fire suddenly loud in their companionable silence.

Mac cleared his throat, tugging at one of his leather gloves. "If I'd known you all were so busy I could have sent out our decorator." He motioned to the sad looking fir tree with his freed glove. "Esme believes she's the best we've had. She can't wait for the boys to come for New Year's. You should see the trains and the dancing bears."

"How many times did you offer that very same thing to Pastor Jim?" Dean recognized the teasing tone, the twinkle in Mac's gray eyes. He knew Dean continued the tradition the pastor started years before, the same one he'd shared with Miss Emma. The decorating of the Christmas tree was a project for the whole family on Christmas Eve, followed by a celebratory dinner of pot roast, then apple pie for the lighting of the tree.

"Jim was a stubborn, nostalgic and traditional, God rest his soul." Mac nodded to the paper ornament in Dean's hand, taking a moment to unwind the wool scarf from his neck. "The man was completely satisfied with construction paper ornaments, cranberries and hand-strung popcorn, if allowed."

"Shit." Dean groaned. "The popcorn." He had forgotten to pop the corn and get the cranberries for the garland. Sam had taken on the tradition of doing that with the boys, just as he and Caleb would go cut down the tree. Dean was ashamed to say he'd bought a pre-cut tree this year. Damien would give him hell.

Mac gave him a sympathetic pat on the back. "It's not easy managing two businesses, three boys, and a secret organization to protect the innocent. Esme and I will take care of the popcorn and cranberries. Things will work out just fine, Son."

"Thanks." Dean gestured to the mess. "I'm used to having some help with this stuff."

"You were always big on tradition." Mac slid out of his coat, tossing it and his scarf to the back of the couch. "Wanting your entire family together for the holidays. The pastor shamelessly encouraged it."

"Me?" Dean reeled at the observation, his mind tugged back to JT's earlier statement about family and the sanctity of Christmas. He wondered at just what other traits he'd unwittingly passed to his boys. "I hate the holidays…at least I did before the kids came along." The happy Christmas memories had been few and far between. The ones that were memorable were mostly thanks to Jim and Mac.

Mac pointed to the red construction stocking. "You forget I was here that first Christmas at the farm. Sam was younger than James. I helped you hang that very ornament on the top of the tree by the star."

"I was five." Dean rolled his eyes at the doctor's expert memory. He dropped the traitorous ornament into the box out of site. "I still believed in Santa and his eight tiny reindeer."

"Until my jaded thirteen year old son enlightened you that same year, I believe."

"He was doing me a favor." Dean looked down at the wooden angel in his other hand, remembering his desperate wish that year. "Damien was always watching out for me."

"I imagine he and Sam are both very upset they can't be here."

"Are you kidding? They're probably holed up for happy hour at Hooters, eating hot wings and spinning some poor pitiful them tale for their waitress just like the good old days." Dean couldn't quite pull off the nonchalance. He looked away, trying to pretend he didn't see the sympathy in Mac's eyes. It was ridiculous to be so upset by the fact his brother and Caleb would not be making Christmas. It was even more ludicrous he was broadcasting his disappointment in such a manner that Mac could easily read him. JT had the excuse of being a child. Wanting things his way was a given. Dean was a grown man for crying out loud. "Maybe I shouldn't have sent them out there. I could have pulled another team."

"This hunt was too important and you know it." Mac knelt, using a piece of cardboard from an empty ornament box to maneuver the broken crystal into a smaller pile. "Anything with a hint of Regan Walsh must be handled carefully. The Scholar and Knight needed to go."

"I know." Dean's head understood that, but the fact the rest of his Triad was trapped in South Dakota did not sit well with his heart.

"The snowstorm was unfortunate."

"Damn Mother Nature." The weather was something even The Guardian could not control. Dean used his boot to scrape some of the scattered shards into Mac's reach. "I was counting on them."

"They do tend to keep the boys occupied. In Caleb's case, I believe it has something to do with maturity level. He's like Peter Pan."

Dean took a seat on the coffee table, leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees. He lowered his voice. "JT's getting his first bike from Santa this year. I meant for Sam and Caleb to help me put it together. Just like you, Dad and Jim did for me that first year." Dean still remembered how Caleb joked it took a mechanic, brain surgeon, and a pastor to put together a little boy's toy. Dean sure as hell didn't need a criminal lawyer and an architect to put together his son's bike, but damn if he didn't want them there just the same.

"I see."

"Crazy right? I mean, they would be more trouble than help. Damien would insist on having some of Jim's eggnog, stealing one of Juliet's pumpkin pies to drag out to the barn. Sam would say we needed to read every single direction before we even opened the bags of bolts and screws." Dean shrugged. "I won't even get into the argument that would ensue on who would get to put on the stickers. Damien would probably want to paint a fire breathing dragon on the seat."

Mac reached up and patted him on the knee, making Dean feel all of five years old. "I hold that Christmas your father, Jim and I put together that bike as one of my fondest memories. I still feel as if Jim and your father should be here, as if they might burst through the door at any minute. Even now after all these years, I miss them."

"Me too." Dean felt his throat tighten, his eyes begin to sting.

"The pastor would have been as in love with this new generation as he was with you boys. And Johnathan…Dean, your father would have been so proud of your sons."

Dean snorted, grasping for levity. "Jimmy, too?"

"Jimmy especially." Mac smiled, wanly. "I'm afraid John Winchester's looks are not the only thing James Murphy will one day lay claim to in regards of his true grandfather."

"You're just as much his true grandfather, Mac."

"And that is a gift I will never be able to repay, Son." Mac abandoned the task of using the cardboard for clean up. "I had made peace with the fact I would not enjoy that role, you know, considering myself blessed to at least have been a parent."

Dean nodded. "Damien might have broken down one day and got that dog you would never let him have as a kid."

"Perhaps." Mac laughed and Dean was glad to see the sadness slip from his gray eyes. "But then I married Esme, and Joshua and Carolyn had Max. The depth of love I felt for that child quite frankly caught me off guard, then JT was born, and Ben and James came along. I found myself a grandfather four times over. I must say it made all the insane things Cullen used to do for Caleb suddenly seem so reasonable."

"Damien thinks you have lost your mind, you know."

"Being an indulgent grandparent is the reward I get for raising him, even if it is by proxy. There is not a day that goes by that I do not wish Johnathan was around to enjoy the rewards with Bobby and me." Mac met his gaze. "So, I would never be the one to call your desire for your brothers to be here crazy."

"There's always next year." Dean looked down at the small wooden angel in his hand, knowing it was time to abandon his wallowing and start making do with all the good fortune he did have.

"I daresay if Pastor Jim was here, he'd tell you not to give up hope quite yet."

"As you pointed out, the pastor had a tendency to wax nostalgic."

"Perhaps." Mac pointed to the wooden angel. "But I also remember the Christmas when you brought that particular ornament to Jim's tree. It made us all question the existence of miracles."

"None of you believed my story about the angel."

"That's not entirely true." Mac rose, squeezing Dean's shoulder as he did. "If I recall, Caleb, Sam and Jim believed your story."

Dean was tempted to point out that none of his supporters were here now. "I haven't seen it in years, not since that last Christmas we all spent at Jim's before Sammy left."

"Sometimes we find things when we need them most."

"Are you, _Mackland Ames_, famous surgeon and former Scholar of The Brotherhood, trying to tell me that someone's watching over me?" Dean's mouth twitched.

"More like, my persona of _Grandpa Mac _is telling you that it is entirely possible you are being looked after, even though you might, at this moment, feel quite alone."

Dean's brow arched. "Does that mean you think Damien and Sam could still make it for Christmas?"

"Sorry, Son. No matter what your best friend believes, I have not lost the ability for all rational thought. Nothing short of a Christmas miracle will have your Triad reunited this night." Mac pointed to the broken ornaments, now twinkling neatly at them from one large pile. "How about I get a dust pan and a broom so we can get started on fixing this tree before dinner is ready?"

"Yeah." Dean turned to the angel once Mac was gone. He brushed the traces of dust from the delicate wings, staring into the peaceful face. Flipping it over he traced his finger over each letter of his name. It was the one thing his father couldn't explain. _Dean Winchester_ burned in perfect sweeping script along the base.

To be continued…Christmas Eve


	2. Chapter 2

Home for Christmas

By: Ridley

Beta: Where is she? Last minute shopping? Eating? Making merry? She is a busy girl, so this little chapter is all on me.

A/N: I said we would continue on Christmas Eve, so this is a day early. That's the good news. Bad news? It's not finished and won't be until probably after the New Year. I was a little over confident in just what I might accomplish during all the festivities. I was writing that first chapter from firsthand experience you know, minus me being the leader of a secret organization to save the innocent. But I just couldn't bring myself to leave you hanging without anything after the many kind reviews, so I hope this works. Unfortunately, I do leave you hanging-like a Christmas ornament. Merry Christmas and blessed New Year!

RCJ

"_Let us keep Christmas beautiful without a thought of greed, that it might live forevermore to fill our every need, that it shall not be just a day, but last a lifetime through, the __**miracle**__ of Christmastime that brings God close to you."_

_-Ann Schultz_

RCJ

_New Haven, Kentucky_

_December 1990_

Dean Winchester was seriously regretting having taught his little brother Sam the 'Batman Smells' version of Jingle Bells. If he heard the twisted rendition one more time on the long trek back to the farm in New Haven, he might have to strangle the six year old with his scarf. It made it worse when Pastor Jim joined in for the chorus. There was something wrong about an old person belting out those nonsensical lyrics.

He must have groaned because the pastor took his eyes off the road just long enough to shoot him a wry grin. "Dean, my boy, you're not enjoying our song?"

"It's not the song; it's the singing." Dean slouched further in the passenger seat of Bobby's ancient Tahoe. The pastor had borrowed it for the four wheel drive and extra room they needed for their cargo. Like most of the mechanics piece meal rides, the vehicle was lacking on the amenities. The heat was non-existent and Dean was grateful Jim insisted he bring one of Damien's out grown ski jackets he'd left at the farm. He fixed his eyes on the wintry scene outside. Snow was falling harder, rushing towards the headlights in big fat flakes-the kind that stuck to your lashes making it hard to blink.

"I'll have you know I am one of the shining stars of our choir." Jim returned his gaze to the narrow, winding road that wrapped its way like twisting garland around Viking Mountain. The pastor had taken his own advice. Bundled in his barn coat and boots, red scarf and matching hat, he looked like Farmer Santa, which was appropriate considering the task they had undertaken.

"Doesn't the congregation have to _let_ their pastor sing?" Dean was not feeling particularly charitable. "Besides, I don't think this tune will make it into any of your hymn books."

"The Bible says make a joyful noise unto the, Lord." It seemed Jim's good mood refused to be dampened, not by Dean's attitude nor by the fact the snow storm slated for Christmas Eve moved in earlier than expected. "I rather believe He is not picky about what we sing, as long as the message in our heart is pure."

"Sam obviously agrees with you." Dean glanced to the backseat where his geeky brother was singing away, eyes glued to the darkened skies beyond his window. Dean didn't know if Sam was watching the snow or searching the stars for signs of Santa's sleigh even though Christmas Eve was a day away. "So you can spare the Christmas propaganda, Jim. He's not listening."

Jim drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music. "I don't believe Samuel is the one in need of a little boost of Christmas Spirit this season."

"That why you dragged me away from the farm and on this missionary trip with you?" The pastor had woken them at the break of dawn to help deliver shoe boxes the church had filled for the shut-ins and other needy families in the area. Dean hadn't realized the outreach would take them into the remote mountains of neighboring Tennessee, eating up their whole day. "Nothing says Christmas like the possibility of getting kidnapped by a bunch of redneck hillbillies."

"I don't find that humorous, Dean." Jim flashed him another look, this one not nearly as jovial. His blue eyes had temporarily frosted over like the ice crystals that kept forming on the windshield due to Bobby's faulty defroster.

"Neither will Santa," Sam piped up from the backseat, proving he could simultaneously eavesdrop and sing off key. "He knows everything."

"Then the fat guy knows I'm not exactly worried about impressing him, Sam." Dean shot his brother a warning glare. He only had himself to blame for perpetuating the myth for his brother. Sometimes it was tempting to spill the truth.

"The families we helped today aren't as fortunate as ours," Jim continued, his voice taking on the familiar tone Dean had heard many times from the pulpit. "Christmas is the time to give back the love we have taken all year long. Giving to those who haven't anything is not only a gift to the receiver, but to the one who is blessed enough to provide."

"Sorry, but I'm not feeling really blessed this year either." Dean wasn't about to admit he'd been moved when the families accepted their offerings with such eager appreciation. For a while he'd forgotten about his own troubles, which in his eleven-year-old mind were paramount. Many of the families invited them in, offering a hospitality that cost them in the pride department. Their homes looked like shacks, far worse than any of the dumps Dean's father had rented for them to stay in. The one thing that stood out in Dean's mind was the fact that although obviously poor, most of the families were large and at least all together under one roof for the holidays. None of their dads seemed ready to dash off to a hunt, nor was anyone prepping to jet off to a tropical locale to work on their tan. He was ashamed to say a part of him envied them.

"Dean is probably on the naughty list this year."

"Shut up, Sam."

"It's true." Sam leaned as far forward as his seatbelt would allow. "You've been like the Grinch since Dad left."

"No one asked for your opinion, Cindy Lou Hoo." Dean folded his arms over his chest. "Go back to the dancing lollipops and candy canes in your head and leave me out of your little fanasy."

"He'll be back in time for Christmas Eve, Dean." Sam was undeterred, confident in their father's return for the holiday. Dean knew better, but kept himself in check. "I bet this year will even be better than last Christmas."

"Considering we got kidnapped by crazy Griffin Porter and I almost died from pneumonia last year that should be a given." Dean held back from saying bah humbug.

Jim's sigh was loud and heavy. "I rather hoped the fresh mountain air might improve your countenance." The pastor flashed him another look. "This brooding is uncharacteristic of you, my boy."

"Christmas sucks. I just want it to be over with." Dean brought a gloved hand to his window where he drew a crude rendition of a Christmas tree before placing a large X over it. "The sooner the better."

"I wish it were Christmas all year long," Sam offered. "It's my favorite time of the year."

"Because you get presents." Dean snorted. His brother's list was a mile long. Dean was able to score a couple of the gifts but if Mac and Jim didn't come through, Sam would be severely disappointed.

"No, because everybody's happy." Sam fell back against his seat. "Even Daddy."

"Thanks to Jim's special eggnog." Dean obliterated the frosty tree completely with one vicious swipe of his glove.

"Dean." Jim's took one of his hands from the steering wheel reaching across the bench seat to find Dean's knee. He gave it a firm squeeze. The eleven year old wasn't sure if it was meant to be a reassurance or reprimand. Knowing the pastor, maybe both. "I know you are upset that things have not turned out as you planned, but that's quite enough."

Dean was smart enough to recognize the limits of The Guardian's patience. Jim might have been indulgent, but he didn't tolerate disrespect. "Sorry, Sir."

"I like Jim's hot chocolate better than eggnog," Sam said, not picking up on the tension or perhaps trying to alleviate it. "It has marshmallows."

"I agree completely my boy." Jim gave Dean's knee another squeeze before returning his hand to the wheel. "I believe now would be the perfect time to break out the thermos I filled for emergency purposes. There might even be some left over cookies in the basket we packed."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Are you sure we shouldn't save those in case there's a real emergency." Dean didn't like the way the weather was worsening or the fact they were losing light quicker in the mountains than they would have in the valley that would lead them back to New Haven. Jim had not had the Tahoe over thirty in the last hour. At this rate it would be Christmas Day before they reached the farm. "Like us not making it home tonight?"

"Are we not going home tonight, Jim?" Sam sat up straighter. "What about Atticus and the horses? Who will feed them dinner? And we still have to go cut the Christmas tree in the morning."

"Your brother is teasing, Samuel." Jim arched a brow in Dean's direction. "Perhaps you could use some of that pent up energy to find the picnic basket."

"It was back here with the shoe boxes." Sam reached for his seatbelt, hindered by his bulky mittens.

"No way, Sammy. Keep it on." Dean freed from his shoulder harness, turned so he was facing his brother. "Stay put. I'll get it."

He didn't give Pastor Jim time to reprimand him for leaning over the back of the seat, pushing aside discarded wrapping paper and the empty cartons that were filled with fresh fruit and frozen turkeys when they left the farm.

Dean spotted the wicker basket peaking from beneath one of the coats Jim had managed to keep from the donations. The fact it was nearly brand new, his father's size and style had not been lost on Dean. Jim would make a point of it being a leftover, a shame that it would be discarded if John Winchester didn't claim it for his own. It wasn't charity if it was going to go into the trash.

"Found it." Dean's fingers had just brushed against the handle when Sam screamed.

"Atticus!"

Dean felt the Tahoe jerk. They were sliding, fishtailing as sure as if they'd driven the truck onto the frozen pond at the farm. He whipped around, basket forgotten. Beyond the windshield, framed in Jim's headlights was a big yellow dog similar to Atticus. With all the huge white flakes swirling about, it could have been a statue frozen in a giant snow globe.

"Dean!" Jim flung an arm across him, just as he tugged the wheel to the right. The dog darted to the left, scrambling up the bank and into the forest out of sight. It left Jim a split second to recover before they bounced off the road. In any other weather it might have been enough time. Thanks to the slush and snow they were caught in a trajectory of their own momentum.

Dean was now the character in the snow globe, being roughly shaken about as the Tahoe crashed through the brush with more speed than when they were travelling on the road. He saw the ravine and massive pine trees through a whirl of white. Dean's stomach gave a roller-coaster lurch, before an explosion of light and a blinding pain mercifully spared him the rest of the ride.

To be continued…next year


	3. Chapter 3

Home for Christmas

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

A/N: Finally, Christmas is over. I thought I would never be glad to say that, but I'm happily sending this little holiday off. I know Tidia feels the same way as I have forced her to relive the season with editing this story, and she had her tree down the day after Christmas. I hope you enjoy the rest of the tale. As for the new year, I have a multi-chapter story coming up very soon, and Tidia and I have plans in the works for something we weren't sure we would do-a **season 6 Brotherhood AU story arc**. It will not look anything like the show's season six, but will contain some of the same characters in unique ways. One thing we promise –everyone has their souls and the heart of the show will be safe. Wish us luck.

RCJ

_Home is a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit ever answered to, in the strongest conjuration.__  
__**Charles Dickens**_

He was cold when he woke, a dull pain thumping around his skull. Dean understood the drop in temperature when he managed to open his eyes. He was on the ground looking up at a darkened sky. Snow was falling fast and heavy, the wind whipping it to the side like a white sheet on a clothesline. For a moment he wondered how he had fallen asleep in the middle of making a snow angel. Maybe Sam or Caleb had gotten lucky with a snowball. One with a hidden surprise like the rock Damien had accidentally caught him with last year.

"Sammy…" Dean struggled to his elbows, searching out the culprit to blame for his latest headache. The great canopy of pines was unfamiliar. Jim's farm was sparse with evergreens. He lifted his aching head, a bright light shone from somewhere in front of him. It had him blinking, spurring him to bring his arm up to shield his stinging eyes. It took a moment to decipher the annoying spotlight for what it was. The Tahoe's headlights were on bright. The seconds before the wreck replayed in a painful flash.

"Sam!" Dean scrambled to his feet, bringing a hand to his head as it threatened to roll right off his shoulders from the quick movement. He felt the warm, sticky trail from somewhere near his hairline, a strange juxtapose to his burning cold fingers. He tasted blood. He'd either busted his mouth or bit his tongue. The rest of his body was numb, which told him his injuries were either hidden by shock, the first stages of hypothermia, or were miraculously few, especially if he had been thrown from the vehicle. "Jim?" he called, as he stumbled towards the truck.

The Tahoe was resting at an angle, the passenger side crumpled around a large towering spruce so that the wheels on the driver's side were barely off the ground, still spinning. Their movement mimicked Dean's whirling thoughts. The relief he had survived the crash relatively intact was fleeing as the fear for his brother and Jim quickly caught up and overtook any good fortune on his part.

"Jim? Sammy?"

Dean wrenched the driver's door open, terrified of what he might find. The front seat was empty, prompting him to climb inside. The truck creaked and groaned with his weight. Jim was gone. He leaned over into the backseat only to find Sam missing. For a brief second he feared Jim and Sam had been thrown out, too, but remembered both were safely buckled. He glanced at the windshield, finding it mostly intact, though his side sported a spider web crack, a smear of red which would explain his headache.

The truck was littered with paper, boxes and Bobby's tools. Jim's picnic basket was among the mess, cookies and thermos strewn on the floorboard. Dean was comforted only by what he didn't find-blood or any other signs of obvious injury. Dean climbed out of the truck, more confused than before. He hadn't been far from the truck. If Jim and Sam had escaped unharmed, they would have never left Dean behind.

"Jim!" He called for the pastor, turning his gaze in the direction of the road. Trees and brush had given way to their off road adventure, but snow was quickly falling to erase all traces of the crash. "Sam!"

Dean circled the truck. There were no foot prints, but he did find Jim's red wool hat. It was in the snow near the spot where Dean had awoken. He pulled it on his head hoping to conserve what warmth he could. The cold was seeping past Caleb's old ski jacket. It took him a while, but he managed to follow the Tahoe's trail of destruction back to the road where he prayed Jim and Sam had gone to flag down a car. He looked up the mountain path. Snow had nearly hidden their tire tracks. There were no marks of any other traffic. Even worse, there was no sign of Sam or Jim.

Dean cupped his hands, shouting both their names into the night. His yelling yielded nothing but an increase in the pounding in his head and chest. Dean's breath was deafening in the heavy silence. The snow seemed to buffer the sound, casting it back as an echo.

"Sammy!" Dean called to his brother one more time, straining to hear or see anything in the distance that might alert him to where they had gone. A flash of gold caught his eye, an oddity against the back drop of evergreen and wash of white.

The yellow dog appeared out of the tree line on the bank where it sat on its haunches to regard Dean. The flapping glove clasped firmly in its mouth was the only thing Dean had eyes for. It was Incredible Hulk green, a hand-me-down from Dean, which now belonged to his little brother. "Sammy."

Dean cast a fleeting look over his shoulder to the path that would take him back to the Tahoe before moving slowly towards the dog in the opposite direction. If the dog had Sam's glove, which Sam was wearing the last time Dean had seen him, he might just be able to lead Dean to his brother and Pastor Jim.

The closer he got to the animal, the quicker the resemblance to Atticus Finch faded. For one thing, it wasn't as big as Pastor Jim's dog, nor was it a purebred Retriever. It had Atticus's coloring and expressive brown eyes, but looked younger, not more than a pup. One of its ears stood to attention, while the other flopped to one side. Snow coated its fur, and there was no collar or tags to be seen. The dog's tail began to thump in the snow as Dean drew closer, his whole body wagging in excitement before Dean made it to a spot where only a few feet separated them.

"This is all your fault, mutt." Dean kept his tone light and kind as he inched closer. The dog pranced backwards, giving the glove in his mouth a good shake as if he were tempting the boy to try and take it from him, possibly hoping for a game of tug of war. "Just wait until I get my hands on you."

That seemed to be the cue the dog was waiting for. He turned quickly, darting off into the forest.

"Hey!" Dean scrambled up the hill, giving chase. "Come back here!"

The golden tail whipped like a flag in the wind, a beacon for Dean to zero in on. Just when he thought he'd lost sight of the dog, he'd catch a glimpse of the animal as it disappeared behind a tree, or over an outcropping of rock. A bark would ring through the night, a yelp just around the next bend. The eleven-year-old ignored the pain in his head and the little voice that sounded a lot like Damien's telling him to get his ass back to the Tahoe, to seek shelter and wait for help. Dean couldn't do that, not until he knew Sam and Pastor Jim were safe. Something stronger urged him to follow the dog.

Dean didn't know how long he had been running. It felt like hours. His legs burned with exertion, his chest ached. He whistled and called for the pup to no avail. The animal was obviously enjoying their game as he took them farther into the forest. Dean was glad the snow wasn't as deep beneath the thick canopy, but the light grew sparse. Several times he lost the skylight all together, tripping to fall on his knees before forcing his increasingly tired and shiver wracked body back to the task. The sudden appearance of luminescence where none should have been was both welcomed and disconcerting.

As far as Dean knew, he was even more in the middle of nowhere than he had been at the Tahoe, yet the forest up ahead was glowing brightly with promise. The dog's bark beckoned him. The unknown situation warranted caution, but the smell of smoke, the familiar scent of home fires burning had him warring with himself as his feet picked up the pace. The promise of rest, of peace was undeniable.

Dean drew up short, resting his hands on his knees to catch his breath as he took in the unexpected sight before him. He had visited some out of the way places with Jim, but nothing this off road. The cabin was nestled in a stand of massive firs. Small windows glimmered warmly from the front of the home. Smoke billowed from a stone chimney. There was no visible road, though the snow could have hidden a pathway. Dean didn't imagine any vehicle making it to the secluded location. Maybe an ATV, but he saw no signs of any such transportation in the surrounding area. The cabin was alone, sans the large stack of firewood bumped up against its left side.

Atticus's look-a-like waited for him on the snow-piled porch. He had dropped Sam's glove in front of the door, but lowered his head to reclaim the mitten as his own as Dean moved closer.

"Let me guess, Lassie? This is your place?" Dean took hold of the handrail, braving the first step, then another. His breath puffed like the chimney, his chest still heaving from the snowy chase. His head pounded in rhythm with his pulse, dark spots danced in the edges of his vision.

The dog tilted his head, regarding Dean with shining eyes and a tail that thumped steadily in the snow as if to say, 'finally, you made it'.

"Is your master home?" Dean took another step, wincing as the wood creaked loudly. He wondered if the whipping wind had masked it from whoever was inside. It didn't matter because the dog chose that time to announce their arrival by jumping up to paw wildly at the door, letting out a loud whine for good measure.

Dean stood his ground, despite the increase in his heart rate. Only a crazy person lived in the middle of nowhere-someone with a reason to hide from the world. The Caleb voice from earlier ordered him to turn tail and run. That might have made sense if Caleb hadn't been half way around the world. The prospect of finding Jim and Sammy demanded he be brave. The sentiment wavered only slightly when the door swung open and a monstrous shadow fell across him.

"So the prodigal son returns." The booming voice had Dean taking a step back. His shoe found purchase on the wooden step behind him, only to slide on the icy slush covering it. He was once more lying in the snow on his back, fat flakes rushing to greet him.

"And he's not alone." Dean heard the steps squeak under a great weight. He willed his body to move, but found himself momentarily paralyzed. The dog made it to him first, pressing its cold nose against his cheek with a whine before exploring Dean's face with a warm, wet tongue.

"Enough of that, Cephas." The giant shadow materialized into a man, who leaned over Dean with a wide perplexed smile. "Are you alright, Child?"

Dean managed a nod, though he was pretty sure he was anything but. The ache in his chest had blossomed into a fiery agony that extended along his left side, wrapping around his back. His lungs felt like metal bands, harder to inflate with each breath.

"Let me help you." The man offered a hand up.

Dean weakly reached for the help, blinking for a moment when he was gently pulled to his feet. Pinpricks of light danced before him, his stomach churning as the momentum that lifted him seemed to set the world spinning.

"Easy there." A firm grip steadied him. A warm touch rested on his head. Dean took a deep breath as the pain seemed to fall away into the dark recesses of his mind. "You've seemed to have had a run of bad luck. You're bleeding."

"It's okay." Dean managed another breath, the weight in his chest lightening. "I'm good."

"Thank goodness." The man took a step back, giving Dean some space. "For a moment, I thought Cephas had taken bringing home strays to a new level. Injured birds and squirrels are one thing, a boy quite another." He leaned down to pat the yellow dog now at his feet. "I've barely forgiven him for the baby rabbit in my bunk."

Dean looked from grinning dog up to the stranger. The man was as tall as Pastor Jim, with broad shoulders and a wiry frame. They might have been close in age, but where Jim's hair had gone completely silver, this man's was a mass of wavy dark copper. His matching auburn beard was streaked sparsely with gray. With flannel shirt, suspenders and wool pants, he reminded Dean of a lumber jack. "I followed your dog here."

"I see." The man arched a bushy red brow. "Followed him from where?"

"From the road." Dean glanced over his shoulder. "We had an accident. Your dog ran out in front of us."

"Son, the nearest road is forever from here."

Dean pointed to the glove resting in the snow by the dog as proof. "That belongs to my little brother. He was wearing it before we crashed."

"Where is your brother now? Was he hurt?" The stranger looked toward the forest, scratching his beard.

"I don't know." Dean looked longingly towards the house. He prayed Sammy was okay. "I was hoping he was here."

"I'm afraid I'm the only one here. No visitors tonight."

"But the glove…" Dean reached for the mitten only to have the dog grab it and scamper up the stairs, disappearing through the now open door.

"Hey!" Dean shouted after him. "Bring that back."

"I believe Cephas has the right idea." The man gestured to the house behind him. "You should come inside out of this weather and get warm."

"No." Dean reached up and touched his head. The cut had stopped bleeding leaving a crusty trail that ended at his eyebrow, but the pain had blossomed anew. He tucked an arm over his stomach, curling slightly as the burn deep in his gut flared. "Sammy and Pastor Jim are still out here. I have to find them."

"I promise you no one is out here but us. The storm is picking up." The man clasped Dean's shoulder. "You'll feel better once we're inside."

"I don't care about me." Dean's eyes began to sting, his throat tightening. He'd been terrible to Jim and Sam, complaining the entire day. "They're my family."

"Then they would want for you to be safe," the stranger said gently. "You'll do them no good hurt and lost, wandering alone in the darkness."

Dean wanted to argue. He wanted to make his way back to the Tahoe, but understood with painful clarity that even if his aching body held out for another trek, he had no clue where to start. Tracking in the snow was not easy. He had not had the time to mark his path. Following the dog was a mistake.

"I have stew and coffee, a fairly decent medical kit. At least come in and get warm before starting back out."

Dean finally nodded. It was either go inside to risk being murdered by a psychopath, or stay outside and freeze to death. The dog was waiting for him at the door, Sam's glove still gripped in its mouth. He waited for Dean to cross the threshold before dropping the mitten at the boy's feet with a triumphant bark. Dean bent to pick up the glove, surprised his aching ribs didn't protest the movement. He shoved the mitten in his coat pocket. "Thanks for nothing," he grumbled.

The dog might not have led him to Sammy and Jim, but the warmth of the house was like heaven. Dean instantly felt better. A roaring fire blazed from the stone hearth across the open room. Kerosene lamps burned in each corner, their flickering adding to the inviting glow. A small table with mismatched chairs and potbelly stove delineated a small section as the kitchen, leather couch and lone end table marking a living space. The rest of the room was taken up by a massive oak work bench, but it was the huge spruce pine tree by the window that held Dean's eye. Strung with popcorn and berries, it reminded him of the farm, but more importantly it gave him hope he was entering a safe place. Surely psychopaths wouldn't go to the trouble to decorate for the holiday. The slamming of the door behind him, and the distinct sound of a lock being set had his faith faltering. Dean thought of his father's distrust of basically anyone not in the inner workings of The Brotherhood.

"I hope you like venison."

"I'm not hungry." Dean turned, folding his arms over his stomach, which had stopped aching and now grumbled at the rich, spicy aroma filling the room. He hoped its rumblings weren't as loud as they seemed. Dean had eaten breakfast only but felt traitorous thinking of food with Sam and Jim still missing.

"That's too bad. Venison stew is my specialty. Just ask Cephas."

Dean glanced around for the dog, finding the culprit sprawled content on a big brown pillow by the fire. "Cephas?"

"It's Aramaic, for _rock_." The man laughed. "Suiting, considering my friend's countenance."

"He's stubborn alright." Dean frowned at the dog, which dropped its head to rest on one paw.

"He's also incredibly faithful and steadfast. Cephas has a way of winning people over."

Dean snorted. "He has a way of causing trouble."

"That, too. I found him tangled up in fishing net as a pup. Since his rescue, he's made it a calling to return the favor in kind. Cephas has a soft spot for those in trouble, hoping I might be able to offer them a respite."

"I was just fine before _the rock_ found me."

The stranger moved towards the stove, giving a rumbling chuckle. "You said you were in a wreck. That doesn't sound like the best of situations."

"A wreck I wouldn't have been in if it weren't for him."

"So you said." The man lifted the lid to the lone pot sitting atop the stove, using a wooden spoon to stir what was inside. "What did you say your name was again?"

"I didn't." Christmas spirit or not, Dean wasn't going to disregard all his training. He would warm up, wait for the weather to improve, and then be on his way.

"You can call me Aidan." The man wasn't rebuffed. He turned to carry the pot to the table, gesturing for Dean to join him. "Leave your coat and shoes by the fire to dry while we eat. I'll take a look at your head once you've gotten some food in your belly."

"My head's fine." Dean fingered the cut. There was a good lump beneath, but it no longer hurt. He gave another longing look to the door before finally moving towards the stone hearth. Going back into the snow alone was not an option. He might as well make the best of the situation. He would need his strength if he were going to hike back to the Tahoe. Cephas watched him as he stripped out of his wet things, eyeing Dean's boots as he placed them as close to the heat as possible.

"Don't even think about it," Dean warned.

The dog's tail thumped, his brown eyes tracking Dean as he moved to the table.

Aidan placed two plates and spoons on the small table, along with steaming mugs of coffee and cream. He ladled a heaping portion of stew to Dean, then served himself before sitting. "Would you like to say grace?"

Dean's hand hovered above his spoon. He glanced up at Aidan who already had his hands folded. "Seriously?"

"You've found a warm respite in a dark night, amiable company. I would think you have much to be thankful for."

Dean rolled his eyes, thinking Pastor Jim would have appreciated the irony. "Maybe Cephas should be the one saying the prayer seeing as how he was spared from being road kill."

"That's a good point." Aidan surprised Dean by bowing his head. "Father, thank you for delivering Cephas safely home. May our young visitor be as fortunate in finding his way back to his family. Bless this food we are about to receive. Amen."

"Amen." Dean muttered, knowing Pastor Jim would not be pleased with his bad manners. He waited for Aidan to take a bite of the soup before following suit. It was good, soured only by the thought of Sam and Jim out in the storm without anything as substantial. Dean ate quickly in spite of himself.

"I wouldn't worry. I'm sure your family has found safety as well." Aidan took a drink of his coffee.

Dean made an effort to school his features. He was obviously an open book. "They'll be looking for me."

Aidan lowered his mug. "May I ask what you all were doing out on a night such as this?"

Dean swallowed another large bite, taking a drink of his coffee, which he discovered was more warm milk than dark brew. "Delivering food and presents from the church in New Haven. Jim's the pastor there."

"A mission fitting of the season." Aidan nodded to the tree in the corner. "Christmas reminds us of what's truly important. Family. Friends. Caring for one another. It brings out the best in people."

"Or the worst." Sam might have a selective memory about their father and the holiday, but Dean knew there was a reason Jim often found intricate, time-consuming hunts for The Knight during the months of November and December. Christmas had a way of amplifying the feelings of loss and sorrow.

"You don't enjoy Christmas? That's rare for a child your age."

"Not this year." Dean usually found comfort in the season, at least in the way that Sam enjoyed it. It was one time their lives could actually reflect normal, a reprieve from the freaky reality. Even hardcore hunters like Bobby Singer would put aside the salt and weapons to embrace a cup of Jim's eggnog and a piece of pie. But this year things had gone wrong from the beginning. The hunt his Dad and Bobby were on was supposed to take only a couple of days, but had turned out to be much more complicated. Mac and Caleb, for the first time since he'd known them, had taken Cullen up on his offer of an all expense paid vacation to a tropical locale. Dean could only remember the first Christmas after his mother's death being worse.

"I take it this current situation isn't completely to blame."

"I've had stranger things than this happen." Christmas might have been sacred, but it didn't always stop their strange lives from bleeding over into the holiday. In fact, it seemed to bring out some struggle or another for The Brotherhood to overcome-which they did, together. The together part was what Dean chose to focus on. It kept most of the nightmares at bay. "Last year it was a different mountain, different snowstorm, much worse company."

"It sounds like you lead a life full of interesting trials."

"You have no idea." Dean glanced around Aidan's small, tidy house. "It's definitely not as quiet as yours."

"Don't let the setting fool you. I have Cephas and my work to keep me busy." Aidan took the time to put another scoop of stew on Dean's plate.

"What do you do?" Dean took another bite, chewing as he wondered if he were right about the lumberjacking.

"I'm a carpenter by trade," Aidan said. "These days I mostly work on special requests-one of kind projects."

Dean glanced to the big work table, satisfied he wasn't so far off the mark. He prided himself on being able to read people. There were blocks of wood of varying sizes scattered about, along with tools and bottles of varnish and paint. "Don't you get lonely? Where's your family?"

"My family is scattered about. All over the world actually."

"Know anyone in Fiji?" Dean scooted a few potatoes around with his spoon. He wondered if Caleb had made it to the island. If his friend were here he would be able find Jim and Sammy.

Aidan laughed. "I thought most children dreamed of Disney World?"

"I don't want to go to Fiji. I hate it." Dean put his spoon down. "It's right up there with Alabama."

"I see." Aidan smiled over the rim of his mug. "You know, family doesn't have to be under the same roof, or even in the same continent to remain connected. Love isn't bound by proximity."

Dean narrowed his gaze at the knowing look on his host's face. "What happened to everyone being home together for the holidays?"

"Home isn't always a physical space. It can be a state of mind, or better yet, a place in the heart."

"Now you sound like Pastor Jim." The Guardian had tried to put the same spin on things, promising Dean that although not present in body, the missing members of their family would be with them in spirit. Not only would Dean be without his father and best friend, now he was facing the very real possibility of not having Jim and Sammy with him. He had never spent a Christmas away from his brother, couldn't quite imagine what that would be like.

"Most holy men have a wise intuition about such matters."

"Jim's the smartest guy I know." Dean shoved his plate away, his appetite deserting him. He rubbed his head, noticing the pain from before had returned. "Sometimes I just need the real thing. Not a bunch of talk about having faith and promises of good things to come. I want something I can touch, something I can see for myself. I want everyone I love safe and in one place on one night of the year. I don't think that's too much to ask for."

Aidan rested his elbows on the table, leaning forward to regard Dean pensively. "And is that what you asked for? For Christmas, I mean- that your family all be together?"

"Do I look like the kind of kid who still makes a Christmas list to you?" It was all Dean wanted. He silently berated himself for going on like he had to a complete stranger, no less. He turned his gaze to the window by the table, noting the storm was still raging strong.

"I think you look like the kind of child who might deserve to have exactly what he wants, if only for one night."

Dean looked at Aidan. "Too bad you're not in the wish business."

"It's not Christmas, yet."

"Christmas." Dean sighed. "If this snow keeps up, it may be New Year's before I'm home again."

Aidan stood, clearing the table of their plates. "At least you're safe here until the storm passes."

Dean snorted. "Thanks to good old Cephas." He thought of Pastor Jim and made an effort by following Aidan with their empty cups.

"Cephas has good intentions, Child." Aidan took the mugs from him, sending a quick glance to the dog in question. The pup whined softly. "He has a strong instinct to retrieve."

"I wish he had a stronger instinct for tracking." Dean found his gaze drawn to the window once more. "I might have found Jim and Sammy by now."

Aidan clasped his shoulder. "It seems you both have a desire to save people."

"I have a knack for it." Dean shrugged. "Pastor Jim says it's a noble calling."

"The pastor is right." Aidan steered Dean way from the window, leading him to the work table in the center of the room. "We all need a job that satisfies us, one that allows us to use our talents for the betterment of mankind."

"Woodworking does that for you?" Dean picked up a shapeless block of wood.

"Seeing past the rough exterior of something to the possible beauty locked inside is a knack of mine." He winked at Dean. "I have a strong instinct to create."

"I get that." Dean fought back a large yawn. "My best friend wants to build bridges."

"Also a noble calling." Aidan stroked his beard.

"Not as noble as a Knight, but I guess a guy has to pay the bills." Dean would have preferred Caleb focus on hunting, a profession that didn't require a college degree. He turned the piece of wood over in his hand, tracing his fingers over the jagged edges. "What's this going to be?"

Aidan smiled. "What would you like it to be?"

Dean sighed. "Something to bring my family here."

Aidan took the wood, studying it with a keen eye. "How about something to watch over your family while you're unable to?"

"What? Like a guardian angel?"

Aidan ran his large hand over the block. "Every boy, especially one with such an interesting life as yours, needs someone watching over them."

Dean raised a brow, thoughts of his mother leeching their way past the walls where he kept them well hidden. He shook his head. "I don't really believe in those."

Aidan was not deterred. He took a seat on one of the two stools sitting along the work bench. Picking up a blade, he gestured for Dean to take the other seat. "Maybe after tonight, you will."

_RcJ_&SnsnsnsnsN&_RcJ_

Dean didn't know how long he watched Aidan whittle the wood, pieces falling away to reveal the angel the sculptor avowed he could see waiting beneath. He remembered the wings, the face that was just starting to take shape, before his weariness won out, his head bobbing on its own accord.

Aidan suggested he watch the progress from the couch in front of the fire, a prompting Dean didn't refuse after another look outside showed the snow had not let up. The heaviness of a blanket told him Aidan must have covered him during the night, and the warm breath against his neck was proof he hadn't been dreaming when Cephas pulled an Atticus Finch move by abandoning his perfectly good dog bed to crowd Dean on the sofa.

He expected to find the golden furred face pressed against his when he opened his eyes, but instead he was greeted by a tumble of brown hair resting over a fringe of dark lashes closed in sleep. His little brother was nestled into the crook of his arm, body pressed tightly against Dean's side. "Sammy?"

The weakness of his own voice surprised him, but not as much as the hand that came to rest on his chest, the worried face that hovered just above his. "Dean? Thank God you're awake, Son."

"Dad?" Dean blinked, trying to reconcile the scene before him with the last thing he remembered. He attempted to raise the arm that wasn't pinned against him by Sam's weight, but found it attached to an I.V. and pulse oximeter. Gone was the fireplace and Aidan's cabin; sterile white walls and a buzzing fluorescent light above his bed taking their place. The smell of simmering roast and vegetables no longer permeated the air, leaving disinfectants in its place. "What are you doing here …?"

"Take it easy." His dad lowered the metal bar on one side of the hospital bed, taking a seat by Dean's side. He rested his hand on Dean's hair. "You had us all a little worried there, Kiddo. How you feeling? "

"How did I get here?" Dean tried to sit up, but his body was heavy and sluggish. A dull sensation thrummed along his side and across his chest, like an echo of a sharper pain that was being buffered. He was woozy, his head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton.

"You, Jim and Sammy had a car accident. You don't remember?"

"Sammy?" Dean turned towards his brother, who stirred, but didn't wake. There were no marks on Sam, no bandages. "Is he alright?"

"He's fine. Jim, too." His father jutted his chin towards a chair in the corner. Dean could barely make out the sleeping pastor in the dim light. He had a book laid open on his chest, his glasses resting askew on his nose. "You were the only one hurt. Bruised sternum and ribs, not to mention a nasty blow to the head."

"What?" Dean remembered feeling banged up on the run through the forest, but he'd been fine once he'd reached Aidan's cabin.

His father's hand moved gently through his hair, and the twitch at the corner of his mouth belayed the gruffness in his voice. "That's what you get for being the only one in the truck without his seatbelt fastened."

Dean cleared his throat, trying to bring some moisture to his dry mouth. "How did you find the cabin? Did Aidan bring me back?"

"Who?" John took a cup from the bedside table and offered him a drink.

Dean drank a few sips of the water, resting back as the cool liquid worked its magic. "The carpenter from the cabin I found."

"Son, there wasn't any cabin."

"Yes there was, Dad. I went there after the wreck."

His father reached for the call button dangling from the safety rail. Dean recognized the flash of worry in his dark gaze. A woman's voice broke the silence that had fallen between them.

"Yes? How may I help you?"

"Page Dr. Ames. Now. Tell him Dean Winchester's awake." John's hushed tone from before was replaced by his more typical Marine Corporal cadence. It had Sam rustling beside Dean.

"Mac's here?" Dean tried again to shift higher in the bed, but couldn't get his body to cooperate.

"Dean's awake?" Sam made the task look too easy by bolting awake beside him. The six-year-old sprang up then rolled towards Dean, practically falling on top of him. "Dean."

"Take it easy, Sam," their father warned.

"Sammy." Dean grinned, despite the pain in his chest and ribs the jarring caused. He had been too afraid he would never see his little brother again to complain about the total girly move.

"I didn't think you'd ever wake up." Sam hugged him hard.

"That makes two of us, my boy." Jim appeared on the other side of Dean's bed. His eyes were watery, as he cupped the side of Dean's face. "I believe you stole ten years from this old man's life."

"I'm sorry, Jim. I shouldn't have left the truck, but when I woke up and you and Sammy were gone…"

"You didn't leave the truck." Sam looked from Dean to his dad. "You were knocked out. Jim said we couldn't move you until help came."

Dean frowned at his brother. "I was thrown from the truck." His gaze went to Jim. "Or you moved me because I woke up outside. You were gone for help."

"It's alright, Ace. Just take it easy." John reached for Sam, lifting him from the bed. "Mac will be here soon. He'll fix this."

"Did Dean break his head, Daddy? Is his brain bleeding?" Sam's eyes stayed locked on Dean. "Do you remember your name, Dean? Do you remember my name? Samuel Jonathan Winchester?"

Dean sighed. "Why is Mac here? What about Fiji?"

Jim's hand moved to his shoulder. "Caleb had a vision of the wreck while at the airport. He and Mackland were the reason help found us so quickly. They called the forest rangers and paramedics, then contacted your father and Bobby. Mackland, Cullen and Caleb flew here from New York."

"Deuce! About damn time, Kiddo." Caleb's boisterous entrance interrupted any other questions Dean wanted answered. His best friend crossed the room in two strides, goofy grin plastered on his face and for a minute Dean feared he was going to do something completely embarrassing by hugging Dean like Sam. He stopped short of the total chick flick scene, wrapping his fingers around Dean's hand free of the I.V. instead. "Can we not have a Christmas without you ending up in the hospital? There are easier ways to score presents, you know."

"Dean's head is broken, Caleb." Sam was practically on the verge of tears, evidence to Dean he had not had enough sleep and was probably wired on caffeine and donuts from the cafeteria. He was verging on total meltdown. "He's got a bleed."

Caleb's grip tightened on his hand. "Deuce?"

"I'm okay." Dean swallowed, feeling slightly claustrophobic with all the attention he was garnering. It was obvious the grownups had been talking when they thought Sam wasn't paying attention.

"Let me be the judge of that, young man." Mac entered only seconds behind Caleb, Bobby Singer trailing in his wake, taking up all the space in the small room. Mac patted his leg, as he came around to glance at the machines by Dean's side. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay," Dean answered.

"He's confused," John handed Sam to Caleb, effectively nudging them away from the bed so he could crowd in beside Mac. "Babbling nonsense."

Dean felt a moment of panic as Caleb's touch pulled away and he lost sight of his little brother. "Wait…"

Bobby leaned over the bottom of the bed and squeezed his foot. "Most of Mac's patients wait until after they get his bill to go off the deep end, Sport. You're going to make him look like a bumbling intern in front of the local doctor."

"It's alright, Dean." Mac glared at the mechanic, before turning a reassuring glance to John. "It's not unusual to be a little confused after a head wound, Johnathan, especially one in which there has been a long bout of unconsciousness."

Dean's feeling of helplessness increased as Mac's pen light appeared. He tried to focus on his father's face as the doctor began his torturous exam. "I'll order up a round of scans. Dean can you tell me what you do remember, Son?" Mac's voice was calm, encouraging.

"I remember Jim and Sammy singing, then the dog running out in front of us." Dean tried to disappear into the bed, burying into the pillow to evade Mac's light. Mac countered by lightly gripping his chin. He was too concerned with hoping no one saw the tear that slipped free of his lashes to notice the look of concern the adults shared. "He had to swerve to miss it."

"There was no dog, my boy. It was a deer," Jim spoke up, his voice full of regret. He reached up and rubbed his thumb over Dean's cheek, wiping the trail of water away. "I didn't see it until it was too late. I'm afraid I didn't miss it or the tree we hit afterwards."

"What?" Dean tried to pull away from Mac, but the doctor was intent on checking his pupil reaction.

"On the flip side we'll be having venison stew for Christmas," Bobby squeezed his foot again. "It happens to be a Bobby Singer specialty, which is a good thing considering the pastor didn't get to defrost the turkey." Bobby faked a shudder. "Cullen's at the farm. He's been threatening to order out our meal from one of those fancy caterers he and Mackland like."

"It wasn't a deer," Dean snapped. "It was a dog…like Atticus, only it wasn't the same when I got closer. He was smaller and younger..."

"Deuce, take it easy." Caleb wormed in between Mac and John as one of the monitors tracking Dean's heart rate sounded. His hand found Dean's again.

"That's my fault, Dean." Sam gave a teary confession from Caleb's shoulder. "I saw a flash of gold fur. I think I screamed Atticus's name."

"It's okay, Sammy," Caleb said, forcing a smile for both boys benefit. "Atticus is about the size of a small deer, same color. It's an easy mistake."

"But I saw the dog again, after the wreck, Damien." Dean held Caleb's gaze, willing him to read the truth and tell the others. "When I woke up, Jim and Sammy were gone. Cephas was there. He had Sam's Hulk glove. I followed him through the forest hoping to find them. Cephas led me to Aidan's cabin. That's where I was until I woke up here."

"My boy, I would have never left you," Jim vowed. "Samuel and I were by your side the entire time until help arrived."

"Mac?" Dean could hear the fear in his father's voice as he beseeched The Scholar with all the imploring intensity that Dean had showered Caleb.

"It's alright. Vivid dreams are also common in head trauma. It explains the occurrence of afterlife experiences. I think Dean's fine, but the tests will tell us more…"

"I'm not confused. I wasn't dreaming." Dean clearly remembered picking the mitten up from the cabin floor. It was too real to be a dream. "I can prove it. I have Sammy's glove. It's in my jacket pocket."

"But I have both my gloves." Sam squirmed for Caleb to let him down. He ran over to the chair in the corner, pulling out his coat which he held up for all to see. A bright green Incredible Hulk mitten dangled from each of Sam's jacket sleeves. "You made me clips to keep them because I kept losing one. Remember, Dean?"

Dean remembered fashioning the metal clips with scrap wire, but he also clearly recalled Cephas having the green mitten identical to Sam's. He rubbed his head, trying to clear the foggy thoughts. "Maybe it was someone else's glove."

"Maybe you should just let Mac finish his exam, Ace."

"But, Dad…"

"I'll check your pocket." Caleb let go of his hand, moving to where Sam was. He watched as his friend dug through the pile of coats beside the chair until he found his old ski jacket, the one Dean had inherited from him.

"Junior, what the hell are you doing?" John growled. "Glove or no glove, it's not important."

"It's important to him, Johnny." Caleb searched one pocket then the other. A frown marred the teen's face when he pulled his hand out. He didn't hold a mitten, but something else. "Not exactly a glove, Kiddo, but definitely not a figment of your imagination."

"It's an angel." Dean swallowed thickly, relieved that he wasn't crazy. "Aidan made that for me." He looked at his dad. "At his cabin, the cabin I found when I followed Cephas from the wreck."

"Jim?" John questioned.

The pastor shrugged. "I didn't give it to the boy, Johnathan. It's possible one of the shut-ins we were visiting gave it to him as a gift. They were quite taken with the boys."

"If they did, they took a hell of a lot of time to carve Deuce's name in the bottom." Caleb flipped the angel over as he walked to the bed to stand beside Jim. He handed the carving across to John so he could see Dean Winchester etched in the wood. "It definitely wasn't made in China."

"But I didn't tell him my name." Dean moved his gaze from his dad to Caleb. "Hunters don't give their real names, especially when they're in an unknown situation."

"Damn straight they don't, Dean." His father handed him the angel. "We'll talk about accepting gifts from strangers later. Now let Mac finish taking a look at you."

"Give up, Kiddo. Your old man still doesn't believe in half the things he hunts." Caleb laughed, running a hand over Dean's hair. "Maybe your host was psychic. It would explain why I lost track of you for a while."

"You lost me?" Dean eyed his friend.

"Your blip went off the radar for the first time since that Christmas I lost you in Central Park. I tried reaching out to you, but it was like you had vanished." Caleb's smile faded. "Scared the hell out of me."

"Maybe Dean was with Santa. The North Pole doesn't show up on anyone's radar because of magic." Sam's voice was full of wonder. He climbed back on the bed, staring at the wooden angel with all his six year old awe. "He could have a dog, you know. The Grinch has a dog. Are you sure the dog's name wasn't Max?"

Jim leaned on the bedrails. "What did you call the dog, my boy?"

"Cephas." Dean ran his fingers over the peaceful face of the angel, the intricate folds of his wings. "It means rock."

"Yes, I know," Jim said, a small smile forming. "Aramaic, if I'm not mistaken."

"And just so this whole Twilight Zone moment gets even weirder, how did you know that, Pastor?" Bobby folded his arms over his chest.

"From studying a resource you should be more familiar with, Robert." Jim arched a brow at Bobby. "My Bible."

"So this is more of a Miracle on 34th Street moment." Caleb smirked at Bobby. "Deuce got touched by an angel. Something you will never have to worry about, Sanford."

"What Dean has is a mild concussion." Mac sighed. "Which means he is in need of my services much more than he is in need of all this amusing company and speculative commentary."

"Did Dean go to heaven?" Sam looked at Pastor Jim, scooting closer to his brother.

"No, Sammy. Your brother got a gift from one of Jim's parishioners." John shot his oldest son a familiar look that said disagreeing with him was not an option. "The knock on his head rattled his memory of it, that's all. Right, Dean?"

Dean nodded, knowing Caleb was right in his earlier declaration concerning John. "Sure, Dad."

"The most important thing is that Dean is back with us." Jim patted his leg. "Just in time for Christmas."

"With a few minutes to spare." Caleb tapped his watch. "It's nearly midnight. You almost slept straight through Christmas Eve, Deuce. Sammy was thinking he was going to score his and your presents this year."

"No, I wasn't," Sam huffed. "I only wanted one thing for Christmas." He looked at Dean. "And I got it."

Caleb snorted. "Then I guess we can donate all those presents on your list to Jim's campaign for next year."

"Santa might be upset if I don't open the gifts he brought. I don't want to disappoint him after he took care of Dean." Sam looked at his brother. "I asked Mr. Cullen to leave milk and cookies out and carrots for the reindeer in case we didn't make it back in time."

"Speaking of which, when will our boy be able to come home, Mackland?" Jim looked to the doctor. "Surely there will be no need for him to spend Christmas in a hospital when there would be a more than capable doctor with him at home."

Mac sighed. "Considering I have yet to complete my initial exam, the prospects of Dean enjoying Bobby's venison stew by Christmas dinner is looking pretty slim."

"Sounds like Mac's subtle way of telling us to scram, boys." Bobby nodded to Caleb. "Grab the runt, Junior. I'll go get the car. If we head back to the farm now, we might get in bed before the big guy makes his rounds."

"That's an excellent idea, Robert," Jim spoke up, moving to get his and Sam's coats. He made his way to the door. "I need to put the pies in the oven, bring the ornaments down from the attic and I have yet to pop the corn or string the cranberries."

"Says the all powerful and respected Guardian of a top secret organization sworn to protect the innocent from all forms of evil." Caleb rolled his eyes at Dean. "So embarrassing."

Dean grinned. Things were falling into place just as they should. "Typical Brotherhood Christmas."

Caleb winked at him. "Much better than Fiji."

"Sorry about that," Dean said. He was sorry for scaring his friend, but not that Caleb would be spending Christmas at the farm.

"From now on, I think it's safer we just stick to home for the holidays."

"Sounds like a plan to me, Damien."

"But I want to stay here with Dean." Sam clasped his brother's hand. "He needs me to watch over him."

"Go with Bobby and Caleb, Sam. I'll keep a close eye on your brother." John once again lifted his son from the bed. Sam reluctantly let Dean go. "If Mac gives the all clear, we'll be home soon."

"But…" Sam started to protest.

"We still have to cut the tree, Runt and decorate it." Caleb moved around the bed to take the six year old from John. "I need a partner that can watch my back."

"You two will be lucky if Cullen hasn't brought one of Mac's fancy decorators in from New York." Bobby grunted. "We may return to find a giant Vermont fir taking up the entire living room, the farm looking like Macy's storefront exploded."

"It's okay, Sammy. I'll be back before you know it." Dean held out the carving to his little brother. "Here, you can put my angel on the tree for me."

"Okay, Dean." Sam took the ornament, looking pleased with his new assignment. "I'll find just the right spot."

Once the room was quiet, Mac looked up at John and cleared his throat.

"You want me to leave, too?"

"Dean's awake and in very capable hands. I know for a fact you haven't eaten or had any decent coffee in the last twelve hours."

Dean watched his father's stubborn scowl appear. John crossed his arms over his chest, refusing to be sent away like the others. "Not really a chance of the decent coffee part happening in this place. I might as well stay."

"I have it on good authority that the Chief of Staff's quarters is equipped with an espresso machine and mini bar."

"Fine." John surprised Dean by giving in so quickly. "I'll be right back, Ace."

The boy nodded, watching his father turn to go. Dean was in for a bigger shock when John drew up short, returning to his bedside. He bent close, pressing his lips to Dean's hair. Taking a deep breath, he said in a husky voice, "Merry Christmas, Son."

"Merry Christmas, Dad." Dean didn't take his eyes off his father until he was out the door, afraid the apparition would vanish as sure as the glove Dean had stuffed in his coat pocket at Aidan's cabin. It was the season for miracles. When he did return his gaze to the doctor, Mac was smiling at him.

"How are you feeling, Son?"

Dean returned the grin. "Like a kid who might get exactly what he wants for Christmas."

Mac patted his leg. "I can't think of a boy who deserves it more."

RcJ*SnsnsnsnsN*RcJ

"Dean? Are you alright, Son?"

Mac's voice broke the spell ensnaring Dean in the past. The doctor's touch anchored Dean to the present once more. Mac was armed with a broom and dustpan instead of penlight and stethoscope, but the look on his face was so reminiscent of the one from Dean's memory, his smile tentative but hopeful.

"I'm good, Mac." Dean raised the wooden angel in his hand, hoping it was explanation enough. "Just reminiscing."

"Tis the season," Mac gripped his shoulder in understanding, nodding to the pile of broken glass. "But time we get on with making new memories. Yes?"

"Yeah." Dean placed the angel on the coffee table, taking the dustpan from Mac. He'd just picked up one of the larger shards of Juliet's ornaments so Mac could sweep the smaller pieces when a shriek from Esme and a crash echoed from the kitchen. He flinched, the glass slicing his skin. "Shit."

"What now?" Mac's gaze went to the entranceway.

"I win, Daddy! I win!" A little voice belted.

"One guess." Dean groaned, passing the pan off to Mac before starting towards the kitchen. "James."

The site that greeted him was not one he expected. His youngest son was safely secured in his high chair, JT tucked into the seat beside him. Both boys were smeared with peanut butter sandwiches half-finished on their plates. Dill was inching out from under the table, her gaze locked on the smashed casserole dish lying in ruins at Esme's feet. It wasn't the destroyed roast Dean had eyes for, but the two men who were standing in front of her.

"Sammy? Caleb? What the hell?"

"You tell us." Caleb strode forward, his face grim and determined as he gripped Dean's shoulder. "Are you hurt?"

"What? No." Dean looked over the Knight's shoulder to meet Sam's concerned gaze.

"How in the world did you boys get here?" Mac entered the kitchen. "Esme, are you alright?"

"I'm much better than our dinner." Esme propped her hands on her hips with an exasperated sigh. "One minute I'm alone with the boys taking the roast out of the oven, the next Caleb and Sam appear in front of me out of nowhere."

"It was magic!" JT vowed with a look of awe. He climbed down from his chair staring at his uncles. "Christmas magic."

"I win." James clapped, backing his brother up.

"Did Santa bring you?" JT demanded. "I asked him to because Daddy said he missed you. Did you ride in his sleigh?"

"Not exactly, Kiddo." Caleb scanned the faces in the kitchen, not loosening his grip on Dean. "Are you sure you're okay, Deuce? Where's Ben?"

"Dude, I'm fine. We're all fine."

"He's bleeding." Sam pointed to Dean's hand.

"What are you a bloodhound?" Dean brought his sliced thumb to his lips, sucking on the small trickle of red as he studied his brother. "Maybe it's wing sauce like all that on your fancy bib."

Sam rolled his eyes, tearing the Hooters napkin from the front of his shirt. "Funny."

"I think we are all waiting for a plausible explanation boys."

"Castiel showed up during happy hour in South Dakota-said Dean needed us immediately." Caleb tightened his grip. "He scared the shit out of us."

"Language," Esme reminded them.

"Cas?" Dean looked around. "Where is he?"

Sam and Caleb didn't have a chance to answer as the kitchen door opened and Ben stumbled in struggling with an awkward package as he stomped snow from his boots.

"Rufus and Bobby just pulled in. They're helping Cullen with the rest of the gifts," he announced. The teen's face was hidden by the box he was carrying. "JT, check out what Santa left you at Uncle Sam's."

"Check out what Santa left Daddy in our kitchen!" JT crowed. James clapped loudly.

Ben lowered the box, nearly dropping it when he saw Sam and Caleb. "Wow, I thought Dad was probably on the naughty list."

"Careful with that, Ace." Caleb let go of Dean, pointing at the teen. "That present is from me. It's fragile."

"Jimmy wants presents!" James banged on the top of his high chair, scattering bits of peanut butter on the floor, which Dill ignored in lieu of sniffing and circling the giant box.

"Fragile?" Dean shook his head at The Knight's grandiose error in judgment. Mac wasn't the only one who had lost all their sensibilities since the boys came along. "And you brought it into this house? You really have no clue, Damien."

"He has a death wish is what he has," Sam spoke up. "Juliet is going to kill him."

"Why?" Dean studied the gift more closely. "Damien? This box has holes in it."

"What?" Caleb ignored Dean, flashing Sam an incredulous glare. "Juliet loves me."

"Did it just move?" Dean was now focused more on the gift than on the fact his best friend and brother had been delivered to him via an angel. "Damien, what the hell did you do?"

Dill circled the gift in question whining, which elicited an excited yelp in return.

Caleb knelt by the box. "What any good godfather would do. I scored the best present ever."

JT was on the box in a flash. "Can I open it, Uncle Caleb? Can I? Please."

"Knock yourself out, Tiger." Caleb bent in front of his nephew. "I was really bummed when I didn't think I'd get to witness this in person."

"Right." Sam snorted. "You said not being here when that gift was opened was the only upside to the whole freak snowstorm."

"Shut up, Sammy."

"We're not allowed to say, shut up," Ben commented.

"Shut up!" James repeated. Dean put a hand over his son's mouth while glaring at Ben.

JT tore off the top of the box. A furry black head popped over the side. "A puppy!" JT tipped the box and the German Shepherd pup tumbled out, all long legs and flopping ears. Dill ducked her head; teeth flashing as she quickly slunk her way into the living room. "He's just what I wanted!"

"I didn't have to be a psychic to know that." Caleb flashed a look at his father. "All little boys want a dog."

"Thank you, Uncle Caleb!" JT grabbed the puppy in a hug. "I love him!"

Mac patted Dean on the shoulder. "I didn't have the heart to tell you earlier when you mentioned Caleb buying that dog I always denied him."

"_That_ dog that was supposed to live at _his_ house, not mine." Dean glared at his best friend. "Juliet is so going to kill you, man. I'm going to give her the weapon."

"Cool." Ben bent down and patted the puppy, which was now engrossed in licking peanut butter from JT's face. "I hope this means I'm getting that sweet motorcycle I showed you, Uncle Caleb?"

Caleb ruffled Ben's hair. "I'm brave, Kiddo. Not stupid. Even my charm has its limitations."

"You better hope not, for all of your all sakes when Juliet sees this mess." Esme undid the apron from around her waist. She moved to James's chair and took the toddler into her arms. "To be on the safe side I suggest you all work very fast in getting Christmas in order while I get the boys cleaned up."

"I'll go help Esme." Mac picked up JT. "I suggest you boys heed her warning."

"Bring the puppy, Ben," JT insisted. "He can take a bubble bath with us."

"Dad?" Ben looked down at the puppy, attacking the laces of Dean's boots.

"Go ahead. Put a red bow on it when you're done, Son. Women like everything better with a ribbon on it."

Ben flashed him a skeptical look. "Maybe you could put a ribbon on those wrecked ornaments and the roast."

"Just go." Dean waved his son towards the hallway.

Ben scooped up the dog, flashing his uncles a grin. "I'm glad you guys made it. I also hope you brought cash, because I have some great shots for you."

"Ben." Dean growled.

"Going. Going." The teen disappeared, only to pop his head back around the corner. "By the way, Dad, the lights are still on in the barn."

"The barn?" Dean looked to Sam.

"It has a manger." Sam shrugged. "Where else would an angel be on Christmas Eve?"

"Of course," Dean shook his head. "To think it was only moments ago that I was pining over my Triad not being here and now I have a real Christmas miracle."

"Looks like we got here in the nick of time." Caleb slapped Dean on the back as he moved around him to step into the living room. "Dinner not done, the tree half finished. What kind of Guardian are you, Deuce? It's embarrassing."

"Where's the popcorn and cranberries?" Sam joined The Knight.

"Is this a pre cut tree?" Caleb fingered the branches of the fir.

Sam pointed to the sparkling shards on the floor. "Are those…"

"Yes, Sam, those _were _some very special snowflakes." Dean folded his arms over his chest. "As hard as it is to believe, I was doing my best to pull Christmas off without you two, despite a few mishaps."

"Never a good idea." Caleb shook his head. "We should stick to being home for the holidays from now on."

"Tell me you didn't try to put JT's bike together solo?" Sam said.

"No, Sammy." Dean rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't dream of trying to put a child's toy together without an architect and criminal lawyer for back up."

"So, we're on for that tonight?" Caleb bobbed his eyebrows, rubbing his hands together. "Some of Pastor Jim's eggnog and one of Juliet's pies…."

"I think we better concentrate on putting this Christmas together first." Sam propped his hands on his hips, his Scholar face sliding into place. "Bobby's here so we can put him on dinner duty. Caleb can clean up this mess then the boys and I will finish the tree."

"Why do I have to clean up the mess?"

"Because you'll need the practice after JT turns that puppy loose in the house."

"The puppy will be fine, Sam…"

"So, it looks like you two have this covered, then." Dean slapped his best friend on the back harder than he needed to, interrupting the burgeoning argument. There would be plenty of shit recon jobs in Caleb's future. He grabbed Jim's old barn coat from the couch where he had dumped it earlier after bedding down the horses. "I'll let you get to it."

"What? Where are you going?" Sam demanded. "We've got a lot of work to do."

"Out to the barn," Dean said. "I'll grab some venison from the freezer while I'm out there. Bobby's specialty, you know."

"And some of Jim's brew," Caleb added, grabbing the discarded broom and dust pan. "We'll need it for the eggnog."

"And hurry back," Sam said. "Santa will be making his rounds soon. You're on carrot and cookie duty."

"I'll be back before you know it, Sammy." Dean picked up the angel ornament from the table, offering it to The Scholar. "How about you put this on the tree for me?"

Sam took the wooden figurine, a smile tugging his mouth as he recognized the carving. "I think I know the perfect spot."

"I knew you would, little brother." Dean squeezed his shoulder, flashing Caleb a quick look before moving towards the door.

He passed Bobby, Rufus and Cullen on the way out, informing them that he needed all hands on deck for side dishes. Snow was falling harder now, and Dean was thankful for Jim's red wool hat as he braved the cold. The barn door was cracked when he got there, light spilling out. The horses gave a light whinny when he entered, one of Juliet's barn cats bounded down a bale of hay to scurry into one of the empty stalls.

Castiel was standing near the tractor, familiar trench coat tucked around him, although Dean doubted the angel was bothered by the cold December chill. Boo Radley was at his feet, chewing on something Dean couldn't make out. The older dog had been banished to the barn earlier after attempting to snatch the doomed roast from the table. He looked up, keeping the object covered with his paws. He regarded Dean with shining brown eyes as his tale thumped the dusty ground behind him.

"Merry Christmas, Dean."

"It is, thanks to you, Cas." Dean moved to stand in front of the angel. "You're a hell of a lot more reliable than the airlines."

"I have a strong urge to retrieve," Cas replied.

Dean smiled at the angel. "Long time no see, by the way."

"I've been busy. We both have." Castiel tilted his head, studying Dean. "Being a father agrees with you."

"Some days when they listen to me." Dean stuffed his hands in his pocket. He cleared his throat. "Why don't you come in and join us for dinner? You could meet the boys. Juliet will be home soon."

"I really have to get back. Perhaps some other time." The angel looked up to the ceiling. "I do have something for you." Castiel reached into the pocket of his trench coat.

"Cas, you already gave me the best present."

"Then you can give this to your boys." Caleb handed the gift to Dean. "For your tree."

Dean took the small wooden ornament, turning it over in his hand. The carving was of a dog, a smiling retriever. Although not an angel, the style was unmistakably familiar. The warm honey oak captured Cephas's color perfectly. The dog's fur appeared caught in a light breeze, eyes so alive they seemed to shine with mischief. Dean looked up at the angel. "Cas?"

"So they know someone is always watching over them."

Dean nodded, a grin tugging at his mouth. "You wouldn't happen to have a box of Tiffany snowflakes tucked in that trench coat, would you?"

Castiel smiled. "I'm afraid not."

"Too bad." Dean laughed, looking down at the wooden dog. "You could come in just for a minute…" He looked up to find Castiel was gone. Some things never changed. Dean sighed. "Merry Christmas, Cephas."

Boo whined, drawing his attention. "I guess you're willing to take his spot at the table?"

Boo barked, sitting up on his hind to offer his master a paw in contrition. Dean caught a flash of green against the scattered hay. He knelt to pick it up, smiling as he turned it over to reveal the snarling face of The Incredible Hulk.

"Well, I'll be damned."

Boo snatched the glove from his fingers, making a wild dash for the exit.

"Hey!" Dean stood.

Boo stopped just outside the doors. The snow falling around him made him look like a statue caught in a shaken snow globe. He paused long enough to give the mitten a fierce shake, daring his boy to come take it.

"Bring that back here, you mutt," Dean called.

Boo ignored him, turning to lope towards the farmhouse glowing warmly in the distance. His golden tail held high, flashing like a beacon, showing Dean the way home.

RCJ

January 2011


End file.
